


The Flash of a Distant Camera

by Cinaed



Category: RENT (musical or movie)
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Love at First Sight, Pre-Canon, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2007, recipient:aradiachiba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:16:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Mark sees her, it's through his camera lens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flash of a Distant Camera

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aradiachiba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aradiachiba/gifts).



> Thanks go out to Stultiloquentia for the great beta job.

The first time Mark sees her, it's through his camera lens. She's laughing at something her friend has said, head thrown back in amusement. Sitting on the front steps of an apartment that looks older than the city itself and seems ready to crumble to dust, she is vibrant and beautiful, and Mark feels something go paradoxically light and tight in his chest.

She looks over, spots him and his camera, and laughs once more. He watches as she poses for a moment, angles herself so that he can presumably film her good side. Then she stands and walks-- no, she _saunters_, sways her hips to the beat of a song only she can hear-- over to him. "What's that for?" she asks with a nod towards his camera. Her voice is a light contralto, her curiosity obvious in every syllable.

"I'm," he begins, lowering his camera for the moment, and has to swallow, because his throat is dry. At last, enough moisture returns to his mouth that he can answer her, though the words come out quiet and hesitant. "I'm getting some film of, uh, city life for, uh, an independent movie. If it bothers you, I can, well--"

White teeth flash in a smile that is amused and almost predatory. Her expression hits him like a lightning bolt and leaves him mute. He's not sure if anyone's ever looked at him with that particular expression before. "It doesn't bother me at all, Mister Cameraman," she assures him, and sidles closer, offering him another smile. "In fact, if you're looking for city life, I know a _great_ club a few blocks over. They have an open mic night every Wednesday."

Mark already has a few clips of dancers at the Cat Scratch Club, but that fact doesn't even cross his mind. In fact, he won't remember about those clips until several days later. Instead, the image of this woman gyrating to the beat of some fast-tempo song steals away all rational thought, and he finds himself saying, voice almost cracking, "That'd be great."

"Good." Her white smile flashes once more, and she adds, "It's Maureen, by the way."

It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, for the name to actually sink in, but at last he says, "Oh, I'm Mark. It's, uh, nice to meet you." Her smile is as brilliant as the sunrise, and he can't help but grin stupidly back and add, "You know, your bone structure is really amazing."

*

When he gets home from the club, Roger is stretched out on the couch, half-asleep and yet still strumming his guitar. Mark can't name the tune, which means either it's one of the many tunes he doesn't know or Roger's in the middle of composing a new song. Roger's latest girlfriend is perched on the arm of the couch, looking like she's going to fall off at any second, her tipsy giggles filling the air.

Roger keeps his eyes closed, and mutters a vague hello in Mark's direction. His fingers don't slow, plucking and strumming the guitar, and now Mark recognizes the song as one Roger's been working on for the past few weeks.

"Hey," Mark answers back, setting his camera on a table and nodding politely towards Roger's girlfriend. Linda, he thinks, or maybe it's Leslie. "How was the show tonight?"

"Amazing!" Linda-- no, it's Lisa, definitely Lisa-- gushes, reaching out to clumsily stroke Roger's cropped hair away from his face and beam at him. Roger doesn't even flinch; his smile just widens as he says in that slow, careful way he uses whenever he's three sheets to the wind, "It was good."

"When's the next show?" Mark asks, rummaging around the fridge for something to drink, a root beer or even some of the orange juice Benny is always hoarding. His mouth still tastes of Maureen's kisses, the faint taste of cheap beer and cigarettes lingering on his lips. Next time, he hopes her kisses won't be so bitter. He resists the urge to laugh at himself when the idea of 'next time' makes his stomach twist with anticipation. Keeping his face hidden by the fridge's door, he forces his expression back into a somewhat less damning look. Roger might be three sheets to the wind, but that doesn't mean he won't be able to notice that Mark can't seem to stop smiling.

Roger mutters something that sounds like next Friday, but it's partially drowned out by Lisa's startled cry as she tumbles off the arm of the couch and lands with a thump on the floor.

Mark helps her up as Roger laughs, and he can smell the alcohol on her breath when she laughs too. She leans into him, still giggling a little at her own clumsiness, and announces brightly, "Roger was amazing tonight! He's gonna be famous. God, you should have seen him. Really, really...." She pauses, face scrunching up in thought, and concludes, "Amazing!"

The strumming of the guitar slows and finally goes silent, and when Mark glances over, Roger's either asleep or faking it. Either way, it means Mark's left to deal with Lisa, which is, well, typical, really. Not that Mark minds too much, because it's not that difficult to help her down the stairs and out to a taxi.

Speaking of which.... "I could call you a taxi," he suggests.

Lisa says, "That'd be amazing," and giggles some more as Mark helps her over to one of the chairs, makes sure she's not going to slide off it back onto the floor, and then goes to find wherever Roger last left the phone.

*

The next day, Maureen calls him and invites him to a party one of her friends is throwing. The question's barely escaped her lips when he says yes, and he hangs up the phone with her amused laughter still ringing in his ears.

Mark arrives at the party more or less around the time she told him to be there, and immediately wishes he'd brought his camera. Maureen is dressed to kill and has full command of the crowd, the other party-goers surrounding her like pilgrims who've come to worship their goddess.

There's one girl in the corner, looking vaguely annoyed and shooting dark glances in Maureen's direction, and Mark can't help but wonder if she's the friend throwing the party, put out that Maureen's the life of the party instead of her.

He starts to head over to see if he can make her feel more included, but then Maureen spots him and calls, "I thought you'd never get here!"

Everyone's gazes turn to him and he resists the urge to squirm at their appraising looks. His hands suddenly itch to be holding his camera, whether to have something to fiddle with or to catch the way the crowd circles Maureen like she's the sun and they're her planets, he isn't entirely sure.

"Sorry," he says after a moment, when she raises an imperious eyebrow and he realizes she's expecting a response. He moves through the crowd, which parts for him like the Red Sea, and settles himself at her side.

"Well, you haven't missed much, at least," Maureen informs him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing herself up against his side. She smells of some light, pleasant perfume when he takes a breath. "We were just talking about that new art exhibit that's showing at Metropolitan. Nicky here thinks it's a joke, but I think it's fantastic. What do you think, baby?"

"What do I think?" Mark says, blinking, and tries to remember whose exhibit is being showcased at the museum. "I think--"

A man with dark hair and a cynical curve to his mouth interrupts him with a firm, "I'm telling you, Maureen, his work is unoriginal and passé," and Maureen apparently forgets about her question to Mark as she begins to argue with the other man.

Mark watches her, how her eyes sparkle and her cheeks flush with emotion as she continues to press her point that this artist -- who still hasn't been named, and Mark's beginning to pray that she doesn't remember her question because he has no idea how he'd answer it -- is the next Picasso. He wishes again that he'd brought his camera, so that he could try and capture her energy and show it to the world.

"So what do you do?" someone asks him, and when he looks, it's the girl who was sulking in the corner when he arrived. "Maureen didn't tell us anything about you. Wanted to keep us guessing, I guess." A trace of something Mark can't define tinges her voice in the final sentence. It's wry amusement, perhaps, or annoyance.

"Oh, I'm a, well, I'm trying to be a filmmaker," Mark tells her, and watches her face light up.

"Really? I've always wanted to be a filmmaker, but I never really had a talent for it. My ex-boyfriend even gave me a camera for my birthday and it's just been lying around." She laughs a little. "It was a nice thought, anyway." She frowns thoughtfully and adds, "It's around here somewhere, actually." So Mark had been right in guessing she was the one who was throwing the party.

Mark can almost feel an ache in his hands at the mention of a camera. He glances at Maureen but she's still involved in her argument, waving her hands and snapping something at Nicky. "Do you think I could use it? I wanted to film the party, but I left my camera at home."

"Oh, you really want to?" the girl says, smiling brightly. "That sounds fun. Let me go grab it for you. I think it's in my bedroom, or maybe one of my closets...." She melts into the crowd and Mark watches the direction she disappeared in until Maureen's arm tightens around his waist.

He blinks, turning to look at her, and Maureen kisses him, a brief, hard kiss that steals every thought from his head. When she ends the kiss, she's smiling her predatory smile again. "You really want to film this party, baby?"

Mark shrugs, trying to ignore the way his face warmed at the endearment. "Yes," he says, because `I really want to film you' sounds sappy in his head and he can only imagine how much sappier it would sound aloud. He smiles at her just as someone turns on the stereo and begins blasting a fast-tempo song begins, drowning out any conversation.

As someone shouts to turn down the music, Mark seizes the opportunity and says into Maureen's ear, "I want to film you."

That earns him a wide, pleased smile and she kisses him again, murmuring into his ear, "So I'm your muse then?" and pressing herself closer to him, until he's almost dizzy from her presence. Maureen kisses behind his ear and adds with a low, throaty laugh, "Just make sure the camera catches my good side, baby."

Every side is your good side, Mark wants to say, but instead he kisses her back and pictures her hair swirling around her as she leads the crowd in a dance.

*

It's three days before Maureen calls again and leaves a message on his answering machine, inviting herself over to his loft that Friday night. Mark can't help the stab of relief in his stomach. She told him that she'd call him, and he's been thinking that she maybe doesn't-- but she does. He tries to ignore Benny's amused look and Roger's mock-surprise at Mark actually finding himself a girl that's willing to spend time with him, but he's certain that the pinkness of his face and idiotic smile gives him away.

"Just wait until you meet her," is all he says, and grins at their expressions. Later, he's hard-pressed not to laugh out loud when they meet Maureen for the first time.

"_You're_ Maureen?" Benny says, openly staring, while Roger tries not to choke on his beer.

Maureen tilts her head, favors him with a warm smile, and then attaches herself to Mark's side, pillowing her head on his shoulder. "Baby, aren't you going to introduce your friends to me?" she asks, amusement coloring her words. Before Mark can do proper introductions though, she extends a hand to Benny. "Maureen Johnson."

"Benny," he says, followed by Roger's half-breathless, "I'm Roger."

"Roger Davis, right? I've seen you perform a couple times."

Roger nods, and Maureen offers him another bright smile.

Later, when Maureen is chatting with Benny about his idea for a music studio, Roger drags Mark into his bedroom and says, "Mark, I have no idea how you managed to _get_ her, but you better hang onto her."

Mark laughs at that, because honestly, he's not sure why Maureen's interested in him and has no clue what it is that's keeping her around. Maureen's like an enchantress; one word from her lips is a spell of sorts, leaving Mark dazed and hoping for just another smile in his direction. There is an energy radiating from her frame that he cannot hope to contain, something that draws him and others around her like moths to a flame.

Roger is looking at him expectantly, though, so he nods and says with a wry look, "I'll try."


End file.
